MY DAD WAS A FEMINIST

At age six and for several summers after, my dad would invite me to lunch with his “big boss” when he came for his July visit. I was there to present my “State of the Annual Report Card” while my dad beamed. We all dined on southern chopped steak and mushroom gravy at the orange booth, window side, at the Palomino Restaurant off Highway 74 in Marshville N.C. In that busy little eatery at noon, I was on Cloud Nine….dressed for success in my carefully chosen yellow summer frock, black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes and white lace socks. My legs dangled excitedly under the table! Perhaps my heart was sensing a new-found “love.” I didn’t know to call it “business” but I soon would.

Thanks Dear Dad for “getting me” so early.

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